


Hitman Snacks

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Pulp Fic(s) [1]
Category: Pulp Fiction (1994)
Genre: Arguing, Bickering, Car Bickering, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food, Pretzels, Snacks & Snack Food, snacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega





	Hitman Snacks

“So I brought the snacks, who we murderin’ tonight?” 

Jules gives his colleague a look. “This ain’t no fuckin’ road trip, Vince!”

“Yeah, well I might get hungry,” says Vincent, kicking the door shut with his foot and dropping the bags of food on the table next to you.

“Vince?!” you huff, tapping your cheek with your finger.

“Oh, sorry pumpkin.” He leans over and kisses your cheek, a cute little gesture he has always done since the two of you met at Marcellus Wallace’s wedding. Vince had (and still does) claimed that he didn’t approach you because of how your tits had looked in your dress, but you’ve never believed him. “How long’s it take to get to the target’s place?” he asks Jules.

“‘Bout forty-five minutes? Shouldn’t you already know this, motherfucker?”

You giggle as your boyfriend stands clueless, trying to think of a comeback. “I’mma take a piss,” he mutters, slinking off to the bathroom.

Jules shakes his head. “Useless. C’mon (Y/N), come help put this shit in the car,” he says, gesturing to the bags of snacks, and the two of you take the elevator down to the lobby of the apartment complex. He holds the front door open for you.

“Thanks,” you smile, following him to the car.

“Why you with that fuckin’ idiot then, (Y/N)?” Jules titters.

You shrug as you both stuff the food in the backseat. “I like him.”

“He’s forty!” 

“He’s hot,” you smirk, shutting the car door.

“Whatever you’re into.”

You both make your way back to Vincent’s apartment, and as you walk through the door, he’s sitting casually on his sofa, entranced by the TV. “Vincent!” Jules hisses, making him jump.

“What?!”

“Why the fuck you watchin’ TV?”

“Got bored waitin’,” he mumbles, turning around. “The fuck were you two doin’ anyway?”

“Quickie,” you say with a smug smile, giggling as his face drops. “Jesus, Vince, I’m only joking– oops, sorry Jules.”

“No problem, baby. C’mon, we gonna be late,” Jules says, holding the door open. You skip into the hallway to the elevator again, the two hitmen accompanying you. 

“You two look like my bodyguards,” you smile.

Vincent slinks an arm around your waist. “That’s true in a way; if anyone threatened you I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot ‘em in the face.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jules scoffs, and Vincent sighs audibly as you exit the complex. 

“You ain’t never gonna let that one go, are ya Julie?”

“You shot an innocent ally in the face and blamed it on Jules, darling,” you frown.

“For the last time, it was an accident!” he protests, slapping your ass as you climb into the backseat of the car. He gets in the passenger seat as usual - it’s not unheard of for you to join Jules and Vincent on their duties. Vince claims it’s ‘too dangerous for a pretty little lady’, but Jules has shared with you that you being there makes Vince ‘less of an idiot’ (as he so kindly put it). According to Jules, Vincent says that you being there makes him do his job better, because he never wants to see you get hurt, and it makes your heart melt. “Anyway, you’re my girl, you’re supposed to be on my side.” 

“I don’t take sides!”

“You’re on his side right now!”

“Yeah, well, you said you didn’t watch TV but here we are,” you retort, watching Jules get in the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and, a few minutes later, the three of you are on your way to the target’s home - a middle-aged man who had dared to spike Marcellus’ wife’s drink. It seems like a crazy payback, but you have to give it to him, he’s one hell of a caring husband.

You lean forward and kiss Vincent’s cheek. “Pass me some pretzels please, baby?”

“What do I get in return?” you smile, reaching for the bag.

“A new necklace? Your nails done?” He turns to face you, one arm hooked over the seat. “Christ, I’ll eat out your pussy if that’s what you want, I don’t care, just gimme the damn pretzels.”

Mildly amused by Jules tutting, you grab a handful and shove the bag in Vincent’s lap. “Thank you, lemonpie,” he says, cramming as many as he can in his mouth.

Jules cringes. “(Y/N), I’ma ask you once more - how the fuck are you attracted to this man?”

“Once more?” spits Vince, his mouth still full.

You look at your boyfriend in disbelief. “Honestly, Jules, I’m starting to question that myself now.”

“Weren’t sayin’ that this mornin’ when you were sucking my dick,” he retaliates, and you slap his arm playfully. 

“It’s fine, just tell everyone in California about our sex life, I don’t care.”

“Vince, I don’t wanna be hearin’ about your dong!” Jules complains, cringing again. “Eugh!”

“You’re just jealous, Julie,” says Vincent, smirking and chuckling to himself. “Sounds like you need a foot massage.” You giggle at his remark and at Jules’ grossed out expression.

“Sounds like you need to go fuck yourself!”


End file.
